


COLD SPELL

by alizarin_nyc



Category: Merlin (TV), Merlin - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-24
Updated: 2010-04-24
Packaged: 2017-10-09 03:19:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/82458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alizarin_nyc/pseuds/alizarin_nyc
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i> Through a crack in the ice, Arthur could swear he caught a glimpse of Avalon, a long-buried memory of a place he had never really seen, or seen only in a muddy dream, a sorcerer's spellbound world.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	COLD SPELL

It was only a matter of hours before Arthur's eyes began to shut of their own accord. He knew better than to fall asleep – that meant death, and he was far too important to freeze to death. Frankly, it's ignoble. He leapt to his unsteady feet and was pained to see several inches of snow fall from his thighs and shoulders and to realize that he could no longer _feel_ his feet.

He couldn't see any sign of the path, either, the one he'd thought would bring him somewhere he could find shelter or help. He'd been separated from his scouting party and the swift approach of a winter storm had blinded him. In his haste to find his lost men, he realized that he himself was lost.

There was no hurry any longer. He'd been knocked off his horse while they stumbled in a snow drift and the beast had wandered off. His men would find him or they wouldn't, but he couldn't keep walking because he couldn't tell if he was walking away from them and the build-up of snow was now too deep to cross without strength he didn't have.

He should have let Merlin come along. Merlin wouldn't have let him get lost.

Arthur fell to his knees. He struggled to keep his eyes open. He had discarded his sword a while back, unable to carry the weight of the icy metal. His chain mail was frozen to his tunic. White trees stirred and cracked in the bitter wind. The patterns of their ice-covered branches appeared in constant succession even when his eyes were closed, crossing each other, entwining with white and shadow, and in that pattern he could also see mountains, snow-covered landscapes, glaciers and ice fields, and there, suddenly, a frozen lake, immense and deep and old.

Through a crack in the ice, Arthur could swear he caught a glimpse of Avalon, a long-buried memory of a place he had never really seen, or seen only in a muddy dream, a sorcerer's spellbound world.

He reached out for it, accepting what was to be, but his fingers never connected. He felt them tingle, as if a flame were held too near. He resisted the urge to snatch his hand back. It was a trick. There was no warmth here, there never would be warmth again.

But there was warmth. He felt it in his hands, his arms, and it was spreading through his chest. A golden glow crept in between his closed eyelids, something too bright to be real. The icy lake melted, the glaciers fell into the sea and a river of watery warmth spread over him and through him.

He opened his eyes to see Merlin kneeling over him. But it wasn't Merlin, couldn't be. Some bit of death-trickery, for Merlin's eyes glowed green and his skin glowed gold and he was lifting Arthur as if he were no lighter than a piece of cloth.

 

Smoke drifted over Arthur. He was lying on his back under a roof, similar branch-like patterns repeating themselves in his mind, forming faces, arrows, swords, the crest of Camelot, Morgana's hair. He coughed.

"Easy, sire." Merlin's voice. Arthur's head was tipped up and warm water with herbs pressed against his lips by means of a clean cloth. The effortless grin on his manservant's face was out of place. He was dreaming, surely; reliving his life as he left it forever.

"I'm dead," Arthur said, his voice no more than a frog's croak.

"And heaven is my face?" Merlin asked, turning away to stoke a small fire. Arthur could now see he was lying on a pallet of sorts, under blankets, in a lean-to made of tree branches stuffed with mud and snow, a small opening let out smoke. A tiny fire nestled in a pit dug into the floor of the makeshift hut. He was as warm as he'd ever been – even his blood felt warm.

"What have you done? How did you manage this?"

"Not too much talking, now, Sire," Merlin said. "It was lucky I followed you after all. You've always said I don't take orders well, but I think today it was good I didn't."

"Followed me? How did you ride through the storm? How have you managed to build this, and a fire… blankets, a _pot_? Were you following me expecting me to get lost?"

"No, that's ridiculous," Merlin said. "I always carry a pot when we travel. How do you think I manage to make your ridiculous stews while you're messing around in the forest?"

Arthur closed his eyes against Merlin's rationale. He could swear that something was not right. Something strange had happened. He struggled to remember, but he was so tired, his head felt heavy and he slept once again.

 

Waking in the darkness, Arthur felt his hand lying on something warm and alive. It was Merlin's hand and he grasped it. Sleepy fingers embraced his, entwined with his and without opening his eyes, he became hyper-aware of where he was and the nearness of Merlin. He held his breath, not wishing to break the spell.

Merlin stirred awake. "Sire?"

"Merlin. You're in bed with me."

"For warmth, Sire. Surely you don't wish to freeze to death. We must wait until morning to ride or risk getting lost in the dark." Merlin's bare leg brushed up against Arthur's.

"Warmth is one thing, Merlin," Arthur noticed his voice was stronger, the fear of death was subsiding and his weak limbs were prickly with renewed life. "But I think I'm naked under this fur. Hardly proper."

"I shall not breathe a word of this, you have my promise. But to take full advantage of the only source of warmth, we both have to share body heat beneath this animal skin. I read about it in a book…"

"A book. What sort of book is this, I'd like to know so that I may ban it from Camelot."

"In the old world, before the advent of warm cozy castles, when the earth was mostly covered with ice, the tribes employed many different tricks… um, methods… to keep warm. I read about their homes, built completely of blocks made of ice…"

"Merlin."

"Yes, Sire."

"You're avoiding the subject." Arthur shifted around under the warmth of the animal skin blanket and felt the sharp, cold air slip an icy hand underneath. He inhaled. "Oh. Cold."

"I thought that was the subject," Merlin said, and in the dark, Arthur could hear the smile in his voice. "I'm on my side of the pallet, you have nothing to fear, least of all an accidental touch of my lowly servant skin."

Just hearing Merlin's voice in the pitch black and the way his voice turned silky on the work _skin_ made Arthur suddenly want to press up against that lowly servant skin. It was warm, and the cold he'd allowed in with his movements was almost painful.

"I'm cold," Arthur said.

"I've done all I can," Merlin said.

"You've saved my life," Arthur acknowledged. "Again."

"It's my pleasure."

"For warmth," Arthur said, not wanting to return to that numbness he'd felt outside when he thought he would die, and never see his home again. He moved closer to Merlin, so that they were shoulder-to-shoulder, arm-to-arm, and then thigh-to-thigh. Merlin sighed and seemed to relax, as if to drift to sleep again.

"Warmth," Arthur said, and pulled the skin up over his neck as he lifted to move his face closer to Merlin's. The closer he got, the warmer he felt. Merlin's lips came up to meet his, brushing against them, a huff of hot breath that curled Arthur's toes. "I'm cold," he repeated.

Merlin's hand came up to Arthur's face and it was warm, too. A glow seemed to pervade the darkness of the forest night – an ember perhaps, from the fire, which had been put out for the night, probably Merlin being cautious and not wanting to alert wildlife or enemies to their presence. No matter, Arthur closed his eyes and leaned into the warmth, leaned further into Merlin, pressing his arms, shoulders, chest against him. And his lips – he kissed those warm, soft lips, and Merlin kissed him back. Not like what Arthur would imagine a manservant would do, if his King required a bit of comfort, but like a man would do, if he wanted to.

The kiss deepened, became more than just lips, and Arthur kissed Merlin with his whole body; his mouth, his hands, he pressed his groin against Merlin's hip and was surprised to find himself aroused, flushed with heat everywhere, one hand tangled in Merlin's hair and the other stroking up and down his side. His head spun. He felt dizzy and broke off the kiss, lying back against the pallet, hot breath misting in the air above him.

Merlin rolled over and their bodies were once again pressed together. Merlin moved on top of him and Arthur felt the dizzy feeling leave him, a dream-like clarity took its place and he arched up against Merlin, offering him his throat. Merlin's mouth burned on the pulse point, kissing and sucking, tracing passionate patterns there. His hands moved to Arthur's hips and pulled them up, so that their erections brushed together and Arthur could feel the tickle of hair. Merlin's chest was nearly hairless but between his legs, there was a thrilling coarseness.

Merlin's tongue ran up to Arthur's ear and Arthur shivered. His legs seemed to act of their own accord, falling open to bring Merlin closer. He pulled back to find Merlin's mouth again and opened his legs wider, feet digging into the pallet to push up against Merlin's weight. Finally, a sound from Merlin: a gasp, and he pushed again, closer still, moaning low in his throat to urge Merlin on.

He lay back, breathless once more, and pulled Merlin's head down to kiss him deeper, feeling Merlin thrust against him, erratic at first, until Merlin put a hand between them and guided their cocks together, sweat and moisture starting to ease the friction until they were moving in sync, without much effort, aided by Merlin's heated hand.

The sharpness of pleasure was washed out by the heat and light that suffused the darkness and Arthur was soon barely conscious, slipping into sleep, but trying to hang on to the feeling of Merlin's body over his, a cave of comfort, like a womb.

"Sleep now, my lord," Merlin said. And Arthur did.

 

In the morning, Merlin stirred an herbal brew and chewed dried meat until it was soft enough for Arthur to eat.

"I'm not an invalid, Merlin," Arthur groused, finding nothing else to complain about. "High time we were off and out of this mud hut. I swear you'd let us linger here like savages while the whole of Camelot went untended."

"Never, Sire," Merlin answered, handing him a bowl of something hot.

While Arthur relieved himself in the bushes – feeling the cold once again, this time striking parts of himself that never should be made available to the threat of frostbite – Merlin had summoned his own horse, packed up blankets and pots, and knocked the lean-to into a random semblance of branches, snow, dirt and ash.

"The miracles you perform," Arthur said wryly. "I'll ride your horse, shall I?"

"I'm afraid that in your weakened condition, there's no alternative but for me to ride and you to climb up behind and hold on to me."

Arthur huffed and scowled, but it was no use. Merlin swung up on his horse. Snowdrifts had melted into a crystalline path through the dense forest.

"Remember Sire, you did get lost. Wouldn't want that to happen again. We'd have to spend another night in the cold outdoors rather than in the comforts of Camelot." Only the slightest lift of his eyebrow gave Arthur any indication that that was something Merlin would find intriguing.

"I was lost," Arthur said solemnly. "And you found me." He looked up to see the storm had passed, the snow-capped mountains scratched the violet surface of the sky, and the dark green forested valleys were folded in on themselves below it.

In the heart of it all lay Camelot.

Arthur knew the way home.


End file.
